


The Secret Diary Of A Certain Blond

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-27
Updated: 2007-03-29
Packaged: 2018-12-26 18:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12064251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Justin gets a diary from his sister. What’s he going to do with it?Lots of thanks to Becky, my great beta!





	1. Got To Find A Place To Hide It

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

No, I'm not gonna begin with a "Dear Diary" phrase, because that's just ridiculous. I've never understood that. How desperate you have to be to create a fake relationship with a book that will never respond? Anyway, I am not quite sure yet what I am going to do with this thing full of empty pages.

Actually, my sister give me this diary as a gift – for God only knows what reason. Molly said it could be very useful, though at the moment I can't really see why. I never felt any urge to write down my feelings or memories. That's what my paintings are for. They tell everything there is to be known about me.

But now that I've started writing in it, I'd better find a secure place to hide it. I can't let Brian to find it. That would be the end of the world. The end of MY world to be exact. And definitely the end of my well-kept dignity which I'm so proud of. I won't have a peaceful moment for the rest of my life if he finds out what I am doing. He will be teasing me 'til the day I die. And probably after that as well.

I'm not overreacting at all. A couple of weeks ago I showed him this book. He took it in his hand and started turning the pages very slowly and very suspiciously, with a raised eyebrow.

**"** No words?" He asked and I stared at him like I didn't understand the question.

**"** No pictures either?" He continued and I shook my head in disbelief. **"** So what is it for then?"

He can be such an asshole sometimes. I took a deep breath and told him very carefully that it was supposed to be a diary, therefore it's empty until it's used.His kind answer was,

**"** I'm aware of that, smartass, thank you very much. What I meant is that since you are an - almost - fully grown up young man and a fairly acknowledged artist, I'm sure you're not gonna start writing this shit. Screaming little schoolgirls do that you know." 

I didn't say a word and I could see that he was intently trying to find out what I had on my mind. He read me like I was an open book. And he didn't like what he saw. As the final and most convincing reason he added,

**"** You will end up with your cock fallen off and your tits grown. And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

And with that he handed me back the book while giving me an innocent smile. Then he stroked my hair gently, kissed my cheek and sat back in front of the computer to resume the project he was working on.

That's my boyfriend; symphatetic, sophisticated and supportive. So this is why I can't let him find my book. Or anybody else for that matter. I have to find a really good place for it. But I've got no idea so far.

When Molly gave it to me I didn't think I would write anything in it. I thought about drawing some sketches on its pages since I had no better idea.But then I just put it in the nightstand's drawer and left it there for a few weeks.Till now.

Since I'm alone in the loft at the moment and I have nothing special to do, I took it out of the drawer. I finished quite a huge piece yesterday, so I guess I need a little rest to refill my creative imagination.

I probably sound like I want to find some excuses for being lazy, but the truth is that I really have to do something else for a while. Something different. But I don't feel like going out this afternoon, I would rather stay at home and do something on my own… No, not that, I swear! I don't need to find excuses for jerking off either. I mean I wanna do something by myself but NOT with myself…not now, anyway. 

I already tried a few things but nothing worked. At first I thought maybe I should be cooking something delicious, but then I remembered that Brian told me that we're going to be out to one of his favourite restaurants tonight. Well, so much for my cooking plans. 

TV and DVDs haven't got my attention and then I thought of this diary. It's pretty nice by the way. Simple, but very nice. Black leather binding with a slight silver ornament on the front. And the pages are sooo empty. They're almost screaming: **"** Write something on me!" 

So, I'm going to do just that. God, I hope it won't cause addiction! But even if it does that's still much healthier than drugs or booze. The question is what the fuck I am going to write. Oops! Is it appropriate to write a word like that in a diary? Well, I don't care, it's mine so I'll write whatever I want. But what do I want?

I guess I'm not going to tell the story of my life or write down every single tiny detail of my days and every fucking thing that happens to me. I don't have that much time. And I'm definitely not going to write a book, since I'm not really good at making up stories. I'll leave that to Michael.

I think the best would be if I just wrote down the important things in my life. Things I want to remember. Things that really matter and make me feel alive. Like how satisfied I felt when I just finished one of my most important works yesterday; or how satisfied I felt when I just had one of my most incredible orgasms yesterday – both related to Brian of course....

By the way, I'm going to express my thanks for it to him in my own way as soon as he gets home. It won't be hard. I mean I hope it WILL be hard. Really hard… God, I think I'm a bit turned on…I'm so pathetic, I must restrain myself. Maybe Brian knew better. I already feel like turning into a giggly schoolgirl. It happens sometimes. But only when it comes to Brian. So I guess it's all his fault then. 

Now, where was I? Ahh yes…I was trying to figure out what I am going to use this nice book for. For writing, that's for sure.

Ok. Decision made. I decided to write only when there's something to write about - Gee, what a revolutionary idea!

But for now I think I'm going to finish, because nothing else comes into my mind at the moment, and furthermore my hand is getting too shaky. It needs some rest now. Oh, and let's not forget the fact that I am running out of time to find that very secure place where I can hide my little black book. 

Later then,

"J"


	2. Hard Times

I hate elevators. I always did. I've got some bad memories about being stuck in them. Some people are very lucky not to have any troubles with the elevators all through their lives. So why am I the one who suffers of its disadvantages? I have some slight mental problems – especially after the bashing – I think I got too sensitive. And I always felt a bit of claustrophobia in small, cramped spaces. Like elevators. When I was a child I had some experiences of being stuck in an elevator alone. I even had nightmares about it. Though the elevator is a bit different at Brian's, I still don't use that if I don't have to. 

Today I realized that there's only one thing worse than being stuck in an elevator alone. It's when you're stuck in an elevator with a bunch of strangers. Today I had a meeting at an art agency. They asked me to represent some of my paintings because they were planning to organize a pretty huge exhibition with young artists' works. I was really excited and nervous about trying to do my best to make them want me. I mean my work. Whatever.

The agency took place in a huge office building's seventh floor. Though I hate to use the elevator I decided to do so. I didn't feel like climbing so many stairs. It's not that I was lazy. It's more that – well – I had a very sore ass this morning because of the events I had the night before (thank you very much Brian). So, I had no choice. I got to the seventh floor with no trouble at all. I was relieved a bit, but still pretty nervous about the meeting. I didn't have the slightest idea that I'll have to be nervous about a completely different thing a little later.

The meeting went great, they said I was brilliant and they were more than happy to add me to their artists' list. So was I. As I walked through the corridor I headed for the elevator unconsciously. It opened and I stepped inside. Normally I wouldn't use an elevator this crowded but I wanted to get out of the building as soon as I could. So I stepped inside and tried to ignore a few pairs of staring eyes that were checking me out.

I hate this situation. No one says a word, no one knows the others, but still we have to get disturbingly close to each other. I could feel the heat of the other bodies – which is usually not a problem for me – but this is a completely different situation. I could feel on my neck the warm, wet and stinky breath of the old man behind me. I could feel the sweaty skin of a middle-aged woman next to me. I could smell a strong and too sweet scent of a cheap perfume. Someone was coughing dreadfully at the back. A young boy with an ugly face was definitely checking my ass and my face out. This kind of physical contact is too awkward for me. I could hardly wait for the elevator to stop and get the fuck out of that box. "Three more floors left. A few seconds and I'll get free."  At least I hoped so.

Suddenly we stopped with a thud, but the door didn't open. I finally realized that we were stuck between two floors. At first everybody behaved like nothing had happened. After a few seconds everyone looked around nervously. The woman next to me started to push every button she could reach but the door remained closed. Before too long we heard a voice through the speaker. It told us to be patient for a couple of minutes; that they were working on the problem. And it told us not to panic as well, because everything was under control. Yeah, right. I was so angry. I wished I'd used the stairs instead. But it was too late. All I could do was keep calm and wait patiently. But it wasn't so easy at all. I felt like I was in a coffin made of steel and it definitely got worse and worse with every minute. The old man and an elderly woman behind me started to talk quietly about this situation and I was trying hard not to throw up because of smelling that stinky breath. The coughing man started to breathe hard like he was ready to have a panic attack. Wonderful.

At this moment I heard my cell ring. I was so relieved to see it was Brian. A familiar voice at last! The only person who is able to help me to keep calm. I answered.

"Hey," He greeted.

"Hey," I tried to answer as quiet as I could. I didn't want anybody to listen to my conversation.

"How is it going?" He asked.

I tried to explain the situation as casual as possible. But I could feel that everyone was listening and it totally embarrassed me. I told Brian that we were stuck in an elevator and all. After a while he said,

"I see. That's pretty exciting, isn't it?"

I told him not to worry, that help was on the way. His answer was,

"No, I mean…it must be pretty exciting being locked up with strangers. Is there anyone hot?"

Asshole. He spoke like he didn't care about my unpleasant situation. But the truth is that I knew that it was his way to relax me. It was his way of telling me not to worry. He went on,

"Won't you answer my question?"

What could I say in an elevator filled with people? I think I said something like 

"No, not really…nothing special."

"Too bad. Anyway, I just called to tell you that I've just landed a pretty huge account. And I thought I deserve a little appreciation."

"Of course you do. Congrats," Was all I could say.

"Well, that's not exactly what I had in mind…" 

I could almost see that smug grin crossing his face. I told him I didn't understand. He chuckled a little and said,

"You surely DO understand. What's the problem? We got audience that's all. It won't be the first time. "

I didn't know what to say. What the fuck was he thinking? Having phone-sex with me and five unsuspecting witnesses? That's too gross, even for him. He couldn't expect me to do that. I was trying very hard to say something nonchalant but nothing came into my mind.

"Justin."

I didn't respond.

"Speak."

I thought about finding a good excuse and hang up. But I just couldn't do that. How does he do it? Why can't I resist him? I can't be this weak. And he spoke again,

"Ok, then. It looks like I'll have to help you."

And with that I heard a sound of a zipper. I couldn't believe it. Is he really going to do this? I had to find a way to stop this nightmare. I almost got myself to switch off the cell but then I heard him moaning softly. Oh God. He can't be this cruel. How could I resist? My groin just answered as I felt it twitch. I knew I was lost. I had to go along with it while trying my best not to let anybody recognize what we were doing. I felt my cock getting harder and harder and I noticed that the ugly guy in front of me definitely sensed something. Even worse, I felt like everybody was watching me. And I was probably right.

"Tell me Mr. Taylor. Is it hard already?" He whispered in a husky tone.

I think I said something like,

"Yeah, it is hard….to tell…" 

I knew that whatever I did I had to behave like I was having an ordinary conversation. But it's not so easy when you feel your underwear getting wet. And that fucking guy just stared at me the whole time. He must have noticed my hard on, he was smiling and almost dribbling. For a moment I thought about looking at his ugly face during my chat and that way it would have been easier to control my erection. But then I thought that maybe he would think I'm encouraging him and that was the last thing I wanted to do. And Brian just kept on moaning while his ragged breathing was driving me totally crazy. I decided I'm going to kill him for getting me into such an awkward situation. But before that he'll have to fuck me into the mattress. I deserve it. This is the most impossible position I've ever gotten into. He kept on talking,

"You know what? That's not fair."

I didn't know what he was talking about so I forced myself to say a weak,

"What?"

"You've never been stuck in an elevator with me. I would think I have some privileges, haven't I?"

All I could do was pray for the others not to hear Brian's voice through the cell. I told him that I hadn't done it on purpose.

"Just think about the things I could do to you in such a…tight space."

I thought about how would I look like if I came in my pants. And how would I do it without a sound? I've never managed a quiet orgasm.

"I can't do anything else right now…" I told him.

I heard my voice getting weaker and shaky. My whole body shivered at the sound I heard through the phone. I felt the sweat gathering on my forehead. The woman next to me gave me an inquiring look. She asked me,

"Are you alright?" I looked at her and said,

"Yeah, I'm just a bit…"

"Horny." I heard Brian's voice.

Asshole! He was certainly enjoying my position. I tried to continue,

"It's a bit hot in here…that's all…"

"Hot indeed, can't argue with that…" He told me before groaning into my ear. There was no way anyone could miss my obvious hard-on. I was so pathetic…

"Come on Sunshine, you're doing great. Don't let me down…I'm almost there"

What the fuck was I supposed to do or say? Everybody was watching me and I could explode at any minute. The old man behind me handed me a bottle of water and told me to take a sip. Brian was unstoppable,

"Very well, Justin. Use your mouth…" 

I could hear that he was close and, for the first time in my life, I wanted him to finish quickly. He must have heard me gulping the water because he groaned even louder and a huge  "Fuck!!!" escaped from his mouth. I almost drowned when I heard him. And I guess everybody must have heard him as well. I thought that this was the end. I thought about dealing with the shame of crying out and coming into my pants. I saw the young guy stroking his bulge while watching me. I felt the old woman wiping my forehead with something. I was about to explode. And then suddenly I felt the elevator moving and that former voice assured us that the problem has been solved and apologized for the temporary discomfort. He didn't have a fucking clue about what I've been through. 

The elevator stopped at the ground-floor and the door opened. I couldn't speak just whispered in the phone and told Brian that I got out. My audience wanted to call a doctor, to make sure that I was alright. Well, actually, I was more than alright.

"Well Sunshine, thanks a lot. I'm glad you're out now. If you would excuse me I have some work to do. See you lat…"

"Don't you fuckin' dare!" I shouted into the cell. "You won't hang up until you finish what you've started!

I heard him chuckle and I headed to the nearest bathroom with the cell stuck to my ear. I ripped the door open and without even touching myself I shot my huge load into the toilet. I still don't know how I managed to get to the bathroom, but I'm really proud of myself for having that much of self-restraint. 

And I'm still mad at Brian for giving me such a hard time. But let's be honest; I am not THAT mad. 

I think I'll never be able to use an elevator again without blushing. That's it for now,

"J"


	3. The Stalker

Guess what? I've got a stalker. I mean a real one. It's not that I'm not used to the attention I usually get. And I'm not talking about my art. I'm talking about being used to the staring eyes I feel on my body when I'm on Liberty Avenue. It's like they're burning holes in the clothes I wear and I almost feel like walking totally naked in front of all of them. But this person is really making me lose my patience and goodwill. It's driving me fucking nuts. I've never thought that being stalked could be such a torture, but it really is. At first it seemed to be a bit flattering but things have gotten out of control. I even thought about committing murder or causing permanent injury. I know, I know it sounds quite weird, especially from me. But I've really had enough. Oh and have I mentioned the best part yet? It's a girl…

I'll try to write down the whole thing as it happened. Where did it start…ah yes.

I went to that exhibition last week – the one I was writing about when I had that elevator "accident" – and it was pretty enjoyable actually. I mean the exhibition. It took place in a quite modern and large but still very friendly gallery. It's the newest in the Pitts and I think they did a pretty good job on this one. Eight other young artists and I got the opportunity to have our best works being shown at this gallery. It's a great acknowledgement. Everything went smoothly, the reviews were good. But let's get back to the point.   

As I stood next to one of my paintings while having an amusing conversation with some balding art collector - he tried to convince me to paint a picture of his penis for his wife's birthday, how kinky is that? Anyway, I felt someone's eyes on me. From the corner of my eye I noticed that it was a girl. It surprised me. It was the kind of gaze I usually get from men who want to pick me up. She stood just a few steps away. She was staring at me so intently that I wasn't able to concentrate on the funny story the bald man was trying to tell me. I was getting more and more nervous; I didn't understand why she was doing it.

When the chatty man excused himself and left me standing alone for a while I turned to the girl's direction. She blushed instantly and tried to hide her embarrassment with a faltering smile. I smiled back at her encouragingly – and probably that was the biggest mistake I have ever made. (Besides leaving Brian for Ethan of course.) She came a bit closer but she still seemed to be pretty sheepish. I wondered why that was.

Since she said nothing I thought I had to do something to break this unpleasant silence. I asked her how she liked the exhibition. Not a very original idea to start a conversation with, but nothing else came into my mind and it was still better than remaining silent. She said she liked it a lot and she was more than ecstatic when she heard I was one of the artists.

"Oh, how wonderful! I knew you had to be an artist! You look so sensual…" At this point she blushed even more "um…I mean…sensitive…" She suddenly changed the subject and turned to my painting.

"Is it yours?" She asked inquiringly. 

I nodded. This girl was so strange. I couldn't tell, but I already felt that something was definitely not ok with this situation. (Reality hit me a day later). So she praised my talent for a while and then started to tell me about herself. 

She told me that her name was Hannah. She had just moved to Pittsburgh and she was studying art history; that's why it was so fantastic for her to meet an artist like me. I started to feel awkward about listening to such compliments over my art. It's usually good to hear, but this was way too much. I wished that Brian wouldn't have had that business dinner that evening, that way it would have been much easier to stop this glorification. 

And she just went on and finally asked me if I wanted to meet her somewhere for a coffee or something. She told me she wanted to talk about my works because she was writing an essay and I would be the perfect subject for it. I didn't feel like doing it, but since she was so eager and she had to do that essay I thought that would be the least I could do. So I said yes.

The next day we met at a cafe near the gallery. I wanted to get through that meeting as soon as possible. We spent almost a half an hour there, she was talking about God only knows what, but still hadn't said a word about what she wanted me to do. I hardly heard what she said; I just kept looking at her and pretending that I was interested in whatever she was trying to talk about. I took a good look at her. She wasn't very pretty but she wasn't ugly either. I would say she was just an ordinary girl with long, blondish hair and light-brown eyes. Nothing really special about her, except for one thing; I saw a dreadful desperation in her eyes while she was talking. It really was intimidating. 

I was getting impatient and told her to get to the point and ask me whatever she wanted. She hesitated for a minute then asked, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

I thought I had misheard the question. I was just staring at her with a confused look on my face so she repeated the question. I didn't mishear. I asked her what on earth had this to do with my paintings. 

She smiled in a weird kind of way then said, "I have to tell you something."

Oh God. I suddenly got a feeling that I was not going to like what she was about to say.

"The truth is there isn't an essay I have to write. And I haven't attended the university yet."

"Great. So would you tell me what the hell it is you want from me then?" I asked angrily. I had so many other things to do; I really didn't want to waste more time on her.

"I thought you'd have figured that out by now." She just kept on smiling.

 

"No, I haven't." 

She didn't respond. But suddenly I felt her knee touching mine under the table. At this moment it hit me. What the fuck?! Was this supposed to be a date?

"Look Hannah. I think there's something we should clarify." I started carefully.

She was just looking at me with that embarrassing smile. I went ahead.

"I don't know what you were thinking. But it won't happen."

"Why? So you HAVE a girlfriend!" She stated, still smiling.

"No, you don't understand. I don't have a girlfriend. I have a boyfriend."

The former smile disappeared and an obtuse expression spread across her face.

"You're just joking, aren't you?"

"I don't see anybody laughing here." I answered impatiently.

"You're right. I don't understand." She said.

"What is it that you don't understand? That I am gay? Haven't you heard that word before?

"No, I mean…you can't be… You look so…normal…" Her voice got weaker.

"I am normal. It's just that I fuck men. That's all. Well, if there's nothing else I can do for you I think I'm going to leave now. I have a lot to do. I hope you'll find what you are looking for. Bye!" 

With that I left her sitting at the table with an empty expression on her face. I felt sorry for her a little, but I thought it was the best way I could do it. I thought I'd never see her again. I was wrong.

Next day I was in the loft, working on my newest picture. I was just sketching but I still had to concentrate very hard. I decided to capture the moment I saw earlier that morning. It was just a little thing, almost insensible but it had a huge effect on me.

I was coming out of the bathroom when I saw it. Brian was getting ready for work but he stopped in front of the picture I had painted a few weeks ago. The picture illustrated the first night we met. The first time we made love; the way I saw it and the way I felt. It was an abstract painting though, but he knew what it was about. When I showed this to him for the first time he shook his head and told me that I was hopelessly lost in that romance bullshit. But now he was standing in front of that picture. He stretched his arm slowly and ran his fingers gently across the canvas while having the sweetest smile I have ever seen on his gorgeous face. It was so beautiful. I wanted to save that moment.

I almost forgot about this whole Hannah thing. I didn't even mention it to Brian. I was so lost in sketching I hardly could hear my cell ring. I stood up and headed for my phone. The number was unfamiliar but I answered it anyway and regretted it immediately. I heard Hannah's voice:

"Hi Justin, it's Hannah. Hope you don't mind I've called you."

But how did she know my phone number? She didn't answer that question.

"I just wanted to ask if you would like to come to a new exhibition I've heard about. It's just been opened. I thought you might like it and..."

"Another essay?" I asked with obvious sarcasm.

She didn't respond at first, but then she said carefully, 

"Look, I know I haven't been completely honest with you…"

"No, you were lying." I stated.

 

"But I deserve a second chance."

I couldn't believe that. Is she totally dumb or what?

"Tell me Hannah. Which part of _I'm a cock-sucking faggot_ is so hard to understand?"

I felt my anger increasing with every minute. God, why do you punish me with psychos?!

"But…you can't be sure. Have you ever tried with girls?"

Won't she ever give up? I think she is a clinical case.

"As a matter of fact, I have." And it was true. "And it did nothing for me."

"Maybe you haven't met the right girl yet."

Oh how I hate this shit. Which book do they read that from?

"Look Hannah, I think we should finish this pointless discussion. And if I may ask for a favor - please don't call me again. Thanks." And with that I hung up.

 

I couldn't believe this whole freak show. I've never been accused of being straight. I couldn't handle it. Anyone in the Pitts could tell her who I am, that I'm a natural born queer. Why didn't she accept the fact?

The next day I went shopping, because we ran out of almost everything that's edible and I wanted to cook something special for dinner. I know how much Brian likes when I cook, though he would rather die than admit it. I bought all the supplies I needed and I headed home. On my way back I constantly felt like someone was following me. I knew it wasn't just my imagination; I was quite sure about that. I turned around a few times but didn't see anybody. I didn't have to. I knew very well who it was. How did she find me? I thought it was worth considering calling the police. Ridiculous, I know.

Two days later I went to PIFA, because I had an appointment with a former art teacher of mine. He helps me with my work quite a lot lately, and I'm really grateful for him. In the middle of our discussion he asked, "By the way, has your friend found you?"

I asked him who he was talking about.

"A nice young lady was inquiring about you a few days ago. She said she was an old friend of yours. I gave her your number I hope you don't mind."

Great. At least I knew how she got my phone number. I decided to change it immediately. Someone was obviously punishing me.

I am not going to mention the emails she was sending me with poems about true love. I wasn't even surprised that she got my email address. She was a professional, I have to admit. And I'm not going to mention that teddy bear she sent me in a box either. It held a big, pink heart in its arms that said: "Be Mine". I haven't thrown it out though – I think Gus would appreciate a thing like that. But I'm not going to tell Brian. He would say I want to make a pussy out of his precious son.

Yesterday evening I told Brian the whole story – except for the teddy bear - while we were having dinner. He was listening with sympathy but I knew he wouldn't miss a chance to make fun of my horrible situation.

 "Poor Sunshine. At least now you know what I went through while you were stalking me." 

And the well-known smug grin greeted me as an old friend.

"Yeah, right." I replied, "Like you were protesting." 

He laughed at my pained expression as he said,

 "Ok, I admit, it's even worse when the stalker has no cock."

I had to laugh as well.

We finished dinner and started to clear away the table. At this moment we heard someone banging on the door. Brian asked me to open it while he finished with the table. I pulled the door open and Hannah stood in front of me. I'm usually known as a calm and peaceful person but I seriously thought about hitting her. I opened my mouth to say something expressive but she cut me off.

"Look, we really need to talk. Just give me a minute please. I know we hardly got to know each other but it doesn't really matter when you…"

At this moment I lost my patience completely and yelled,

"What the fuck do you want from me???" I heard my own voice filling the stairway. Hannah stepped back a little and blinked a few times.

I heard Brian slowly coming from behind. He said, "Justin, please. Where are your manners?" Then chuckled and started to stroke my back soothingly. He smiled at Hannah and asked, "May we help you?" 

I've never seen him this polite, but the smile he was giving her was a fake one.

Hannah looked at me confused.

"Is…is he? I thought you just made that up."

"No I didn't." I answered and rubbed my face. "We live together. So would you please leave me alone now?"

"You two live together like…" She whispered the words.

"Like what?" Brian asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Hannah couldn't say a word and I saw a devilish smile, which was a real one this time, forming slowly on Brian's face.

"Let's make it clear for the young lady Justin. Raising doubts is such a shitty thing to do."

And with that he grabbed my face and kissed me with such force that I could hardly stand on my feet. He held me impossibly tight and almost pushed the air out of my lungs. I didn't mind though. I love it when he gets possessive. His kiss was so passionate that I totally forgot about Hannah. And anything else for that matter. I felt Brian's tongue in my throat and his hands touching my ass. He certainly wanted to give Hannah a show, but it was working for me as well. And if his hardening cock was any indication I would say he was just as turned on as I was. We broke the kiss a few minutes later and panted into each other's ear. When I turned to the door I saw that Hannah had left. At last. Hopefully she will leave me alone now.

As if reading my thoughts Brian said, "Well, Sunshine I guess we made it quite clear for her." He kissed my cheek and pulled the door closed. 

"But you know," He went on, "my stalker was much more persistent than yours. And persistence is something I really appreciate." He gave me a tongue in cheek smirk.

I pulled him close and whispered in his ear, "You know Brian, maybe you're right and I really was kind of stalking at the beginning. But considering the following events is it really that easy to tell which one of us could be called a stalker?"

I felt his body tense and he grunted into my ear, "You little shit."

Before I knew it, he grabbed me and bent me over the kitchen counter. My chest was pressed against the hard material and I tried to lift myself up, but he held me so firmly I couldn't move. All I could manage was grabbing the edge of the counter to keep my balance. He pulled my pants down with a swift motion and I knocked some plates off the counter unconsciously.

"Now, you'll get to learn who is in charge here." He panted as he bent over me. "Understand?"  

I couldn't say a word just nodded with surrender. He kicked my legs wider and I felt his hard cock brushing my hole. I could hardly breathe; I was just hanging on the counter as hard as possible. I heard the familiar sound of the condom wrapper and felt the cold lube covering my entrance. He pushed forward in no time and I cried out so loudly, I'm sure the neighbors heard as well.

He was pounding into me with such force that I thought I would faint. But in that case I would have missed one of my most intense orgasms. Not to mention _his_ climax. 

When he finally collapsed on top of me we tried to get our breathing back to normal. A few minutes later he pulled away, slapped my ass playfully and told me,

"And now you're going to clean up this fucking mess you've just made." 

He turned my head and pointed at the floor where the broken plates lay in silent desolation. I quickly cleaned up and joined Brian in the shower with the speed of light.

So, that was my stalker story. I hope it's over now, because I never ever want to deal with this shit again. I hope Hannah finally gave up. The only thing I don't mind is the last part – I would do that again any time. Except for the fact that I had to write this whole story lying on my stomach because I won't be able to sit for a while.

Ok, my hand has just given up.

I'm off. Later,

"J"


End file.
